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  HOW THE FINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS

  I took a settling breath and started up the remaining flight of thin-carpeted stairs to the top-floor attic apartment.

  “Kim?” I called out softly from the top landing. “Are you in here?” The only door visible up here was ajar. I pushed it open with the palm of my hand. “Kim?”

  A small globe light above the door on the inside glowed yellow. The only other illumination came from the strings of lights twinkling on the outside of each window.

  “Amy!” Kim scrambled to her feet from the braided rug she’d been seated on and rushed at me. “You’re here!”

  “Yes.” I squeezed her. “I’m here. Now,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders, “tell me what is going on!” Kim’s hair stuck out in several directions from her black knit cap. She was bundled up in a hip-length, houndstooth-wool duffle coat and black corduroy slacks with knee-high black leather boots.

  “Don’t you see him, Amy?” Kim was practically hysterical now, as if my coming had opened a tap of panic that she had heretofore been holding in check. “Don’t you see him?”

  “See who?” I replied, trying to hold her in place.

  Kim pulled away and pointed. “Right there!” she shouted. “See? It’s Mr. Finch!”

  The living quarters had once been the home’s attic. What I saw was a vaulted room with a convenient beam running lengthwise down the middle—convenient if one wanted to hang oneself, that is.

  Because Franklin Finch was hanging from the center of the beam by a rope tied around his neck . . .

  Books by J.R. Ripley

  DIE, DIE BIRDIE

  TOWHEE GET YOUR GUN

  THE WOODPECKER ALWAYS PECKS TWICE

  TO KILL A HUMMINGBIRD

  CHICKADEE CHCKADEE BANG BANG

  HOW THE FINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  How the Finch Stole Christmas

  J.R. Ripley

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Copyright © 2017 by J.R. Ripley

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  Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: November 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0314-0

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0314-9

  First Print Edition: November 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0315-7

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0315-7

  Printed in the United States of America

  1

  A commotion of some sort was brewing on the street below, but I chose to ignore it. I was happy.

  “Isn’t it wonderful this time of year, Derek?” I reached out the bottom of the double-hung window and carefully slid the plastic tray from the feeder so I could refill it with sunflower seeds. It felt cold in my bare hand. I had promised Derek that I would give him a bird feeder for his apartment—and further promised to come by weekly to refill it for him.

  “Everything is so peaceful, so quiet.” I admired the sparkling tinsel lining Lake Shore Drive. “So festive.”

  “I agree,” Derek said lazily.

  “For a while there, I was beginning to wonder if I would ever truly settle in here.” Since returning to my home in the Town of Ruby Lake, North Carolina, things had been anything but normal and peaceful. And rarely had things been quiet. Finally, things had settled down.

  And with Christmas just around the proverbial corner, my life couldn’t be more perfect.

  I inhaled the chill morning air. The sweet smell of baking coming from C Is For Cupcakes, located across the street and a couple of shops upwind from Derek’s second-floor apartment, was making my mouth water. I looked hungrily at the pink-and-blue bakery shop sign and considered stopping in for a midmorning treat. This time of year, I heard Connie added vanilla and peppermint cupcakes to the lineup and I was dying to try one.

  “You moved into a new house, opened your Birds and Bees store. What did you expect? There were going to be some bumps in the road, Amy,” Derek said patiently. “I had some bumps of my own when I moved here.”

  “I know. Thank goodness we’re past them.” Birds & Bees was the bird-watching and bird-feeding supply store I had started up on returning to Ruby Lake. I operated the business out of the house I owned on Lake Shore Drive, the town’s busiest street. I didn’t know much about business and I wasn’t the world’s foremost ornithological authority, but, so far, I was making a go of it.

  “I’m looking forward to a bump-free future,” I said with a grin.

  Derek laughed as his eyes skirted to the muted television screen facing him. Some morning sports-recap show was airing. He had moved to town around the same time as me. He wanted to be nearer his daughter, Maeve, who lived with his ex. He also wanted to be nearer to his father, Ben. The two men shared a law office directly downstairs from the one-bedroom apartment Derek called home.

  “It was hard there for a while,” Derek agreed. “But I feel a change in the air and it isn’t only the coming of winter. And it’s nice being near Maeve.”

  A house finch clung to the red brick several feet to my right, one curious eye on me as it attacked the mortar with is stubby beak.

  “The sense of home and family. That’s a big part of the reason I moved back to Ruby Lake in the first place.” Being nearer to my mother and farther from my ex-boyfriend had definitely played a significant role in my decision to move back home.

  I turned and looked at Derek as he snorted. “I thought it was so you could meet me,” he said with a grin. He sat with his feet up on the green sofa, hands behind his head, eyeing me. He wore a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a rumpled heather sweatshirt, and he still looked gorgeous to me.

  As a lawyer, Derek is all suit and tie during business hours, but when he’s off duty, he prefers to go casual.

  “Very funny.” I pushed a wavy lock of brown hair from my eye.

  He wiggled his stockinged toes in reply.

  The bird feeder was held to the glass via four strong suction cups. The frame of the feeder was made of recycled plastic. It had a sloped roof and a perching tray of clear plastic. The tray slid out, making it easy to bring in, refill with seed, and replace on the window.

  I picked up the small tote bag of mixed birdseed, reached my hand inside, and refilled the tray one handful at a time. I carefully slid the tray back into the feeder, dusted off my hands, and closed the bottom sash.

  The minute I did, the finch alighted on the tray. It
s toes clung to the edge as the bird rooted around in the fresh layer of seed. “It looks like you’ve got a friend.”

  Derek squinted at the bird. It was a mere six inches long from the point of its beak to the tip of its tail. “That bird or one just like it is always pecking away at the bricks.” He sat up. “In fact, I think he, if it is a he, prefers it to the birdseed.”

  I smiled. “You don’t know much about birds, do you?”

  “Nope.” He rose and kissed me quickly on the lips. “That’s what I’ve got you for, Amy.”

  I tapped the end of his nose with my index finger. “I believe you are more interested in my weekly visits than you are the birds that are attracted to your window, Mr. Harlan.”

  “You won’t get any argument out of me, Counselor.”

  “For your information, that little bird is a house finch. And this one,” I explained, pointing through the glass at the bird, “is a male. See all the red?” Our bird sported a red forehead, rump, and chest.

  Derek nodded.

  “The females are paler, with more of a gray-brown plumage.”

  “And they like to eat bricks?” Derek whispered, not wanting to spook the bird. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and smothered a sigh.

  “There is lime in cement, and lime is a good source of calcium. If you’d rather they didn’t eat your mortar, you could try putting out broken egg shells. The birds might eat that instead.”

  Derek pulled away. “That’s okay. There’s enough mortar on these old walls to last longer than I’ll be living here.” He picked up the remote and turned off the television.

  “Are you thinking of moving?” Not that I would mind too much, just as long as he remained in Ruby Lake. In fact, if he wanted to move out of the apartment, I would help him pack. His ex had recently partnered in a bridal boutique right next door. I could read the shop’s sign from the window: Dream Gowns.

  It was more of a nightmare, if you asked me.

  “No, at least not anytime soon.”

  I nodded. “What is going on down there?”

  Derek rejoined me at the window, placing one hand on the ledge and the other on the small of my back. “I’m not sure.”

  Together we watched as what had started as a small crowd on the sidewalk now spread out onto Lake Shore Drive.

  As many as twenty people had gathered in a loose crowd. Passersby slowed to watch. Several in the group held makeshift signs.

  “Can you read what the signs say?” Derek pressed his nose to the window and cupped his hands over his forehead.

  “No. Maybe it’s a gimmick. Christmas House Village might be running some kind of a midweek sale.” Opposite the brick building housing the offices of Harlan and Harlan, Attorneys, sat one of Ruby Lake’s oldest and most popular attractions, Kinley’s Christmas House Village.

  “Say, isn’t that Kim?” Derek asked.

  “Kim? Where?”

  “That blonde on the right in the long red coat.”

  I followed the imaginary line of Derek’s index figure. It led to a pretty, long-haired blonde with a shiny, black patent-leather purse over her left shoulder. “I wonder what she’s doing there.”

  “If it is a sale, maybe she’s shopping.”

  “Maybe.” But I didn’t think so. Several persons in the crowd were carrying cardboard boxes, others toted bags. Some were empty-handed. All appeared agitated.

  A man in a black suit soon came down the sidewalk bisecting Kinley’s Christmas House Village. A security guard wearing a holly-green uniform joined him. Kinley’s Christmas House Village was a collection of six houses, three on each side of the narrow cobblestone sidewalk connecting them.

  The small cluster of multistory Victorian-era homes were original to the location. The houses sat on postage-stamp-sized lots and had been home to some of Ruby Lake’s earlier residents. The charming enclave had been constructed by a small group of immigrants in the late eighteen hundreds.

  Families came and went and, after World War II, Owen Kinley moved into the second house back on the left. Sometime in the 1950s, he had turned the first floor of his house into his business, Kinley’s Christmas House.

  It was to become the beginning of a small-town empire. Kinley’s Christmas House grew from first one house, to two, and then three, until finally it became Kinley’s Christmas House Village as Owen Kinley and his family purchased the remaining houses in the enclave to expand their holiday-themed business.

  “Look! Somebody just took a swing at Kim!” Derek said in astonishment. “That woman hit her in the side of the head with her purse!”

  I gasped. “That’s Mrs. Fortuny. What’s gotten into her?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Derek. “But it appears to be spreading.” He clamped his hand on my shoulder and pointed with the other. “Look.”

  I looked. The street had erupted in mayhem. Kim was now surrounded by an unhappy crowd. I saw Kim pull out her cell phone. She dialed, talked quickly, and then dropped the phone into the front pocket of her coat.

  So much for my bump-free future.

  “We’d better get down there!” I pulled away and ran for the apartment door.

  We grabbed our coats and Derek fumbled into his sneakers. The door to Derek’s apartment opens at the rear onto the alley. I led the way down the narrow metal steps with Derek right behind me.

  We went around to the main street and had to wait for a line of traffic on Lake Short Drive to move past before we could cross over. “Kim!” I shouted, signaling with my arms as we approached. “Over here!”

  Kim turned and looked at me. She was in the midst of a heated discussion with an elderly woman with silver hair tied in a tight knot behind her head and dressed in a big black coat that fell to her knees. Kim said something to the woman, then hurried toward us.

  Mrs. Fortuny was huddled with a stout older gentleman who appeared to be consoling her. It wasn’t her husband. He’d died years ago.

  On the opposite side of the street, I noticed a smaller group that included our mayor, Mac MacDonald, Gertrude Hammer, and a man whose name I didn’t know but recognized as the head of our town’s planning and zoning commission.

  “Amy.” Kim gave me a quick hug. “What are you doing here?” My best friend is a long-legged blonde with devilish blue eyes. She is thirty-four, like me, but likes to brag that she’s younger—three months, big deal. I’m taller. We’d known each other practically forever.

  Kim had loaned me some startup money for the business. In return, I made her a partner and part-time employee in Birds & Bees.

  She turned to Derek and said hello. Derek nodded in reply.

  “Me?” I said, looking over her shoulder at the mini protest. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question? And let’s assume I just have. What’s gotten into these people?”

  “Them?” Kim waved her hand in frustration. “They’re just upset. I called my boss. He’s on his way over.”

  I arched my brow. “I can see that. But why?” There was no sign of the police. I hoped that was a sign they would not be needed.

  “Ms. Christy!” A clear, sharp voice rang out over the murmurs of the crowd. It was the tall man in the black suit. He had a long face, dark brown eyes, and a sallow complexion. The younger man next to him in the green uniform stood at attention, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’d like a word with you, Ms. Christy!” He beckoned her with his hand.

  Kim sighed. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” Her hand brushed my sleeve. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed, though I was dying to know what was going on. “Wait.” I reached for my best friend’s hand and held her back. I nodded my chin in the direction of the man in the black suit who, at the moment, was checking his gold watch. “Who is that man?”

  Kim shot a quick look over her shoulder. “Him? That’s Franklin Finch.”

>   “Franklin Finch?” I asked.

  Kim’s phone chimed before she could respond. She retrieved it from her coat. “Hello, Mr. Belzer,” she said quickly. “Yes, that’s right.” She twisted her neck and looked at the crowd gathered on the sidewalk outside Christmas House Village. “Yes, I know. Okay.”

  Kim turned her attention back to me and Derek as she once again dropped her phone in her pocket. “I’d better get back.”

  Kim turned to go and I grabbed the bottom of her coat to prevent her slipping away without further explanation. “Franklin Finch?” I repeated. “Just who is Franklin Finch?”

  “You’d better tell her, Kim,” Derek chided, “or she might never let go. You know how stubborn Amy can be.”

  Kim rolled her eyes in a don’t I know it fashion. “Franklin Finch,” she said hastily. “He’s the new owner of Christmas House Village.”

  Kim swatted my hand and I lost my grip on her coat. She disappeared into the crowd, moving toward Mr. Finch and his security guard.

  “New owner of Christmas House Village?” I looked at Derek in wonder and surprise.

  I tilted my head up in the direction of Derek’s apartment window. A trio of nuthatches danced around the window feeder, taking turns. “If only the folks on the street were behaving that orderly.”

  “What?”

  I pointed to the birds. The small but large-headed birds skittered happily upside down along the brick, hopping in and out of the feeder for seeds. “No pushing, no shoving. Peaceful coexistence.”

  “What kind of birds are they?” asked Derek, squinting to see.

  “Those are nuthatches,” I replied. “And those,” I added, pointing to the agitated cluster of folks on the sidewalk, “are nutcases.”

  Derek chuckled. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  “What about Kim?”

  “I’d say Kim has her hands full.”

  Kim stood in front of Franklin Finch. His hands were gesticulating toward the men and women swarming around the perimeter. A three-foot-tall white picket fence separated the sidewalk from Kinley’s Christmas House Village. Finch, Kim, and the security guard stood on one side. The guard appeared to be unarmed except for a walkie-talkie.